


Family Bonds

by PepperVL



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-20 17:28:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperVL/pseuds/PepperVL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lack of communication sends the Avengers and MI6 after the same target and lands Hawkeye in the hospital. When the team confronts Bond over his part in Hawkeye's injury, it brings to light a connection none of them could have anticipated.</p>
<p> Neither Hawkeye  nor 007  is very happy about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to merge the canon for both The Avengers and Skyfall. Some of Clint's comics background has merged into this, but I'm not very familiar with it, and some things have been changed to fit the story.
> 
> In this, that Thing Joss Did has been fixed.
> 
> Additional tags/characters/pairings will be added as the story progresses.

The scarf was faded, so pale in parts that Clint could only tell they were purple because he remembered it being brighter. The gold beads that had caught his eye as a child were mostly gone now, about half of the missing ones collected in a cup in his apartment, the rest lost to the ravages of time and his transient years. The gold thread woven through the abstract purple pattern shone brightly in comparison to the faded silk, but when Clint looked at it, he still saw the bright purples that had formed his love for the color.

Barney had called his attachment to it stupid, told him he was a baby for snatching it off the back of a chair when the police had come after their parents died and for refusing to leave it behind when they ran to the circus but Clint hadn't cared. Back then, it had smelled of his mother's perfume, a soft flowery scent he'd never been able to find in stores. Now it smelled like him or Phil, depending who'd had it last, but when he pressed it to his nose, he could still catch a whiff of the sweet scent he associated with the one person who'd loved him as a child.

The blood stain in the corner was the one thing that didn't remind Clint of his mother, but he'd never tried to wash it out either. That was a different memory, a reminder that Phil had kept it close even when Clint had been compromised. Clint hadn't missed the press of the scarf against his skin during those three terrible days under Loki's control, the only time since his parents' deaths he hadn't either had it or keenly missed its presence. Waking up from Loki's spell had been a relief, but he would never forget wanting to go back under when he realized Phil wasn't going to show up in the infirmary and return it to him. Even now, with Phil healed and back at his side for months thanks to a miracle of medical technology, Clint hated waking up without Phil by his side. The only thing that reassured him when Phil wasn't there was the scarf with its little reminder that Phil had kept him close during the worst moments of his life.

Clint didn't really expect either Phil or the scarf when he woke up in a London hospital after a mission that had turned into a complete clusterfuck, but it still hurt to open his eyes and only see Natasha sitting in a chair by his bed. He'd been semi-aware when they'd rushed him into the OR to repair the deep gash in his calf, and he couldn't remember anything that would keep the rest of the team away.

"They've limited you to one visitor at a time," Natasha said as she put down her book and picked up a cup. She held one of the ice chips up to Clint's lips and watched carefully as he rolled it around on his tongue. "Steve tried to convince them to let everyone stay, but Captain America doesn't hold the same clout here in England. It was all he could do to convince MI6 not to lock everyone up while we wait for SHIELD."

Clint thought about that as he waited for the ice chip to moisten his mouth enough for him to talk. He remembered trying to infiltrate the base of the terrorist their intel said was an alien and being stopped by a man wearing a tuxedo, of all things. "That who we ran into?" It would explain how he had toys Tony and JARVIS hasn't been able to hack and why he hadn't flinched when confronted by the Hulk.

"Yes." Natasha sounded grudgingly impressed. "Their top agent, apparently. James Bond, code name 007." She slipped another ice chip between Clint's lips just as the first one finished melting. "He had the same objective we did."

"But. Alien."

"He didn't know that, but I don't think it would have fazed him."

Ah. That explained Natasha's attitude. Anyone who could keep his cool while facing down the Avengers or their usual foes was worthy of respect. "Where is he?"

"Having a staring contest with Steve, last I saw. Bond tried to get them to leave the hospital, but Steve refused to split up the team. They're in one of the waiting rooms. I think Tony bribed the hospital not to kick them out."

That made Clint feel a little better. It wasn't Phil or his scarf, but it was solid proof his team cared, a feeling he was still getting used to. He felt his lips curl up into a smile—a bigger one than he would have allowed if he hadn't been floating on the good drugs—but it didn't bother him. The only person here to see was Natasha. "How long?"

Natasha's expression softened. "Five hours. Tony had JARVIS contact Phil as soon as they took you into surgery. He should be here soon."

"Mmm. Good." Warmth spread through Clint. Phil would fix everything.

Natasha chuckled and Clint realized he’d said that last part aloud. "I don't know about everything, malysh, but he'll keep us out of trouble and take care of you."

Clint scowled at the endearment. Natasha was his best friend, but sometimes she acted more like an older sister, or at least how Clint imagined older sisters acted. He didn't have much experience with older siblings actually caring about him. Barney hasn't been willing to leave Clint behind in the orphanage, but when he thought back on it as an adult, Clint realized that had more to do with making sure Clint couldn't tattle on him than genuine affection. Natasha occasionally gave him the familial affection he'd missed after his mother died, but it always came with annoying endearments. "Not your baby," he mumbled, his tongue heavy again as the drugs tried to pull him back under.

"Keep telling yourself that." Natasha patted Clint's hand. "Sleep. I'll wake you when your lover arrives."

Clint wanted to argue, but his leg was starting to do more than ache and the drugs made it so easy to give in. "Promise?" He needed to see Phil so he could know everything would be okay.

"Of course, malysh. Sleep. I will wake you."

Clint smiled loopily and closed his eyes. "Thanks, Nat."

"You're welcome," she whispered as he let sleep claim him.

 

Clint woke to Natasha's hand on his shoulder and blinked blearily at her. "Nat?" he croaked through dry lips, confident she'd know what he was asking.

"Phil's on his way up," she assured him as she slipped an ice chip between his lips. "How are you feeling?"

The drugs had worn off some, making it easier to stay awake, but the ache in his calf was more pronounced than he'd remembered, and he could feel every bruise he'd gotten when he fell. "Um."

"That good?" Phil slipped through the door and closed it softly behind him. "I was assured you had a safe perch on this operation, Hawkeye." He used his official report voice, but the concerned expression on his face belied the tone as did the gentle hand he placed on Clint's uninjured leg. "You weren't supposed to get injured."

Clint pushed his leg against Phil's hand. He needed more contact. "Sorry, sir."

"We had an unexpected complication," Natasha added. She slipped one more ice chip between Clint's lips and handed the cup to Phil. "MI6 showed up and tried to shoot him down. He was able to avoid the shot, but his perch wasn't as stable as we believed, and it collapsed."

"Thank you Agent Romanov." Phil slumped a little, losing his Agent's Agent persona as he stepped toward the head of the bed. "JARVIS sent video along with Tony's message. If the first sentence hasn't been that you would be all right...."

"Sorry." Clint fumbled for Phil's hand. "Should've picked someplace else."

“You were where you were supposed to be." Phil laced their fingers together when Clint proved too uncoordinated to do it properly and squeezed Clint's hand. "Seeing you take that fall scared me."

"It scared all of us," Natasha added. "We don't want to lose you." She squeezed his shoulder before turning to Phil. "He's due for another dose of painkillers in about twenty minutes. The doctor said they'd release him tomorrow if everything goes well tonight and we have somewhere for him to recuperate. He has to stay off his leg for a few weeks, and I imagine it will be longer before he's cleared to return to the field."

Clint scowled at the news, though it wasn't really a surprise. He'd seen the piece of metal that he'd landed on and knew it had gone deep enough to cut through muscle. Phil seemed to be aware, too, and simply nodded, though Clint noticed a slight tightening around his eyes. "Thank you, Natasha."

She nodded, seeming to realize as Clint did that Phil was thanking her for more than the report. "The leg is his only real injury. He has several minor lacerations and bruises everywhere, but nothing serious. He hasn't been awake much, but that's drugs, not a head wound. They'll switch to lighter painkillers in the morning, but he'll have to stay on antibiotics to make sure the wound doesn't get infected."

Phil looked almost amused by the time she finished. He turned toward her and squeezed her shoulder with his free hand. "Thank you. I can get the rest of the report from the doctor."

"Of course." Natasha looked down at Clint. "Save some of the drugged up babbling for me, okay?"

Clint managed a small smile. He knew Natasha was worried, but he wanted to be alone with Phil before the doctor came back and gave him more drugs."I'll try."

Natasha smiled back, not quite managing to hide her worry. "I'll go sit with the others."

She was halfway out of the room before Phil turned. "Natasha." He waited for her to stop. "I convinced the hospital to let all of you visit. I'd like to speak to Clint's physician alone, but after, you should all come up."

Natasha's smile was more genuine this time and she nodded before slipping out the door. When they were alone, Clint tugged Phil closer. "She's worried."

"We all are. You could have been very seriously hurt, Clint." Phil looked Clint over with such scrutiny he would have squirmed if he hadn't hurt so much. The aches that had demanded his attention when he woke were screaming for it now and just lying here with his leg propped so his calf wasn't touching the bed was agony.

"But I'm not. And hey, you won't have to worry about me getting hurt for a few months. What could I possibly do stuck at home on crutches?" He tried to be upbeat about it, but he couldn't bite back the moan as he shifted a little, and he was sure his smile was more grimace than grin.

"Plenty, I'm sure." Phil pulled the chair so he could sit without letting go of Clint's hand and pulled something from his suit pocket. "I thought you'd want this."

The faded purple and gold of his mother's scarf was like a balm to Clint. He barely noticed the pain as he almost pulled IVs free reaching for it and managed a real smile when Phil stopped him with a look and proceeded to spread it out over him like a blanket. It wasn't big enough to cover much and was too threadbare to do any good even if it had, but Phil arranged it so one end was brushing against the skin above the collar of his hospital gown and the other was resting where he could finger the fringe. He curled his fingers around one of the few gold beads left on it, heedless of the pull of skin around his IVs, and rolled his head so he was looking straight at Phil. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Phil fingered the corner closest to him, the one with his blood stain on it, and looked down at their joined hands. "I hate giving it to you like this."

Clint sighed. "Phil, we've talked about this. I like it. It's another memory."

Phil let out a short chuckle. "Not the blood," he said, though Clint knew he hated that too. He saw the terrible time they were separated when he looked at it, while Clint saw the love that had led him to keep it inside his jacket during those terrible days. "I meant bringing it to you in the hospital. You're supposed to come home safe so I can give it back to you without worrying."

Clint used their joined hands to lift Phil's chin so he could look straight into his eyes. "Hey. I'm fine. Honest. The next couple months are going to suck, and I'm probably going to bitch about the crutches and therapy and everything else, but I'm okay. My leg will heal. The bruises will fade." He pulled Phil's hand up to his lips and kissed the back of it. "And, hey, maybe this will convince Fury that inter-agency communication is a good thing.

Phil chuckled, already looking more like himself. "You must really be on the good drugs if you think that."

"They've probably about worn off by now," a new voice said from the door. A short woman with dark skin and black hair pulled back from her face stepped into the room and shut the door behind her. "I'm Doctor Neduvelil. I stitched your leg back together, Mr. Barton."

"Thanks for that." Clint tightened his grip on Phil's hand when he tried to pull away. He understood why Phil wanted to be Agent Coulson right now, but Clint needed his lover not the Avengers’ liaison with SHIELD. "What's the bad news?"

Dr. Neduvelil smiled. "No bad news. It was a clean slice, no tearing, so we were easily able to stitch it back together. You were remarkably lucky."

Phil turned his chair to face Dr. Neduvelil and coaxed Clint into letting go long enough to switch hands. "There were no complications Ms Romanov wasn't aware of?"

"Ms Romanov was fully informed, as per her Power of Attorney, Mr....?"

"Coulson. Phil Coulson, Clint's—"

"Boyfriend," Clint interrupted before Phil could tell her something else. "You can tell him anything you'd tell me or Nat." He smiled at her, hoping she'd just take his verbal permission. If she insisted on something in writing, he'd have to ask Tony to have JARVIS do whatever he'd done to make it look like Natasha had permission to get his medical information.

"Of course," Dr. Neduvelil said smoothly. "I'm glad he was able to get here. Your friends seemed worried about you being alone."

Clint felt warm inside at that, though it could have been the drugs she was pushing into his IV. "They do that."

"They're very passionate," she said diplomatically. "Now lift your leg."

Clint complied and let himself drift as she pulled back the bandages and examined the wound. Phil asked a few questions, but Clint let him handle that and instead focused on relaxing and letting the drugs work their magic. By the time Dr. Neduvelil rebandaged his leg and set it back on the foam rest propping it up, he wasn't in any pain and his ability to grip Phil's hand had completely vanished. "Thanks," he slurred as she left, then rolled his head to look at Phil again. "It's hard to see you from this angle."

Phil smirked as he moved the chair. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah." Clint braved as Phil sat back down directly in his line of sight. "I've got drugs, an m'scarf, an you." Somehow in the shuffle his hand had ended up cupped in Phil's instead of with their fingers intertwined, but he didn't even mind that. Phil wouldn't let go.

Good." Phil kissed the back of Clint's hand. "Rest if you want. I'm sure Stark will wake you when Natasha brings the others up."

"Might be Thor," Clint pointed out, though he didn't mind either way. He wanted to see the others. The story of what they'd done while he was in surgery would probably entertain him for hours.

"Might be." Phil pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Do you need anything else?"

"A kiss?" The brush of Phil's lips over the back of his hand had been nice, but it had been too long since he'd gotten a real kiss.

Phil leaned in and kissed him gently. It wasn't the passionate kiss they would have shared if he'd come home unharmed, but rather a gentle caress that filled Clint with so much love he could barely contain it. Phil brushed his free hand over Clint's hair as he pulled back and looked at Clint carefully. "Anything else?"

Clint blinked deliberately wide eyes. "Another?" he asked, biting his bottom lip in a way he knew Phil found irresistible.

Phil laughed as he complied, then sat back in his chair. "Anything other than a kiss?"

"Read to me?" There were always books on Phil's phone, usually ones Clint would never think of picking up himself, but always ones he enjoyed when he could remember them. This wouldn't be the first time Phil had sat next to him in the hospital, reading from his Kindle app, and he doubted it would be the last.

"Of course." Phil pulled his phone out of his pocket and slid his thumb over the screen a few times. “ _Chapter 1: An Unexpected Journey._

_In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty wet hole, filled with ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.”_

Clint smiled and settled in, letting the words wash over him as he waited for his teammates to arrive.

 

The rest of the Avengers arrived about twenty minutes later with predictable chaos. Clint was drifting, not really listening to Phil, but enjoying the gentle rise and fall of his voice as he read Bilbo’s story. He was debating if he wanted to give in to the gentle tug of the painkillers and sleep or try to stay awake so he could hear Phil read as long as possible when commotion out in the hall stopped Phil mid-sentence.

“I think the others are on their way,” he said dryly as he turned his phone screen off without exiting the app. He twisted a little in the chair so he could see the door and tucked his phone back in his pocket, preparing to move if the commotion outside was caused by anything other than a group of superhero celebrities traipsing through the halls.

“Pro’bly,” Clint agreed as he forced his eyes open. He doubted he’d be able to do anything if there was an actual threat, but he wasn’t going to sleep through one either. “They’re not good at quiet.”

“No, they aren’t.” Phil smiled at Clint before turning back to the door and squeezed the hand he still hadn’t let go of. Clint was stupidly grateful for that. Before everything with Loki, Phil would have dropped his hand and stepped back whether the approaching party had been friend or foe, adopting his Agent’s Agent persona to protect Clint. Now, though, they weren’t hiding their relationship from anyone, and Clint knew Phil would only let go if there was genuine danger.

The door opened then and Thor strode through, his massive body blocking Clint's view of the hallway. “My friend!” he exclaimed, a genuine smile blossoming on his face, “I am glad to see you looking well.”

“We all are.” Steve stepped into the room behind Thor and smiled at Clint. “We were worried.”

“I wasn’t.” Tony slipped around Steve, stood at the foot of Clint’s bed, and looked him up and down. “And honestly, Legolas, you look like shit. I like the....” He gestured vaguely to the scarf.

Clint clutched the fringe with one finger, curling it tightly around one of the last precious beads as though that would protect it from whatever idea was percolating in Tony’s brain.

“It’s a little threadbare, though. You sure you don’t want a new one? I can—“

“ _Tony_.” Bruce smiled apologetically at Clint as he joined Tony at the foot of the bed. “Ignore him.”

“Usually do,” Clint said, though that wasn’t the truth. He was good at ignoring or returning Tony’s jibes because he knew they were signs of affection, but even the well-meant offer of replacing his mother’s scarf cut deeply. He’d come too close to losing it too many times when he’d had to run in the past to even think about voluntarily giving it up.

Bruce didn’t look like he believed Clint, but he graciously said nothing as he looked Clint over, mostly focusing on his propped-up, bandaged leg. “What’s the verdict?”

Clint was surprised Natasha hadn’t told them, but he appreciated whatever discretion she’d used. “It’s fine. Will be, anyway. Gotta stay off it for a while.” He wrinkled his nose at the thought, something he never would have considered without the drugs. “Crutches suck.”

Tony looked at Clint with a terrifying gleam in his eyes. “I can make some that don’t.” Clint stared at him with a mix of incredulity and terror, but that didn’t stop Tony. “Seriously. Tell me what you hate about them and I’ll fix it. I’ll make you the best crutches ever. Or maybe—“

“Maybe you can babble about it later, Stark.” Natasha stepped into the room followed by a man in an impeccable suit. “Sorry, sir,” she said to Phil. “He wouldn’t wait any longer.”

“Agent Coulson, I presume?” The man stepped up to Phil, completely ignoring the way everyone else in the room was glaring at him. It was an impressive feat to appear unbothered by a super soldier, a Norse demigod, the Hulk’s alter-ego and Tony Stark, but Clint was more concerned with Phil’s reaction.

“Yes.” Phil stood and extended his free hand, somehow drawing his Agent’s Agent persona around him without letting go of Clint’s hand. “And you must be James Bond. I’m told you’re the one responsible for Clint’s injury.”

“Indirectly.” Bond took the offered hand and shook it. “If he’d complied with my request, I wouldn’t have been forced to shoot him.”

Clint _really_ wanted to see Phil’s reaction to that, but Phil’s grip on his hand was getting tight, a tell no one but he would notice. “’s okay,” he slurred, letting himself sound a little loopier than he felt. “He’s not a very good shot for a secret agent. He missed.”

“Recent injury,” Bond grated, glaring at Clint. “I was shot in the shoulder.”

“I’ve made shots with a shoulder wound before. Once when the bullet was still in me.” And once with his bow, though neither was an experience Clint cared to repeat. He hadn’t missed, because that wasn’t something he ever let himself do, but making the shots had probably aggravated the injuries. “Your shot was really wide.”

“If it was so wide, why did you dodge?”

“Didn’t want you t’ get lucky.” Clint flashed his best loopy grin. “Didn’t know _why_ y’ missed.”

“If you hadn’t dodged, you wouldn’t be lying here,” Bond retorted in a pointed tone. “How _are_ you feeling, by the way?”

“Well, that’s two to one, Clint,” Tony murmured.

Clint ignored him. “’m great. I got good drugs and a room full of superhero bodyguards.” He tapped his thumb on the back of Phil’s hand, trying to tell him to stand down. Bond could be a threat, Clint had no doubt about that, but he wasn’t trying to threaten them now. He would wait and meet Phil on the ground of SHIELD vs. MI6.

“I see that.” Bond stepped closer to the bed and looked at the scarf spread over Clint. “I also see you have a trinket to keep you warm.” He fingered the edge of the scarf, carefully not touching Clint. “May I see?”

Clint really didn’t want to give it up, even for a moment, but Phil squeezed his hand and nodded slightly, and Clint had to admit he had a point. He couldn’t say no without arousing Bond’s suspicions at the very least and possibly losing most of the diplomatic ground Phil had gained before arriving at the hospital. “Sure.” He did his best to keep his smile light so it would look like he didn’t care much one way or the other, but the slight twitch of Bond’s fingers before he picked up the scarf told Clint he’d failed.

Bond lifted the scarf off Clint, handling it with a care that eased Clint's mind slightly, and looked closely at the faded silk. He ran his fingers along the length, tracing a few of the gold threads, and brushed his fingers over the fringe, pausing at each of the few remaining gold beads. Clint was far from an expert in reading Bond’s expression, but even with the disadvantage of the drugs running through his system, he could see the way Bond’s eyes tightened.

When he was done looking at the fringe, Bond moved his keen gaze to the corners, starting with the one stained by Phil’s blood. That elicited a genuine frown, though it lasted only a fraction of a second before he moved on to the next corner. The third corner was the one that had always been Clint's favorite, with twists in the gold thread he liked to think were letters. Probably, they were just random twists of thread, but they formed enough of ‘oni’ he liked to imagine they were the remnants of his mother’s name. He couldn’t remember if she had it embroidered, but if she had, it could have been the remnants of Monica.

Bond seemed to think there was something to the loops of thread as well, and he frowned at them for almost a minute as the tension in the room ratcheted up. Clint was about to demand the scarf back when Bond’s piercing blue gaze was suddenly directed at him again, and he cringed under the pressure as he watched Bond’s hand clench tightly around the scarf. “What?”

“Where did you get this?”

Clint reached for it with his free hand and scowled when Bond jerked it back out of his reach. “I’ve had it since I was a child. Why?”

Bond’s glare got sharper. He looked as though he didn’t want to answer, but—to Clint's delight—the rest of the team circled behind him, making it clear he wasn’t going anywhere. After a moment, he sighed and met Clint's fretful gaze with a challenging one. “It was my mother’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Phil is reading is The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien. All credit for those lines goes to him.


	2. Chapter Two

Something twisted in Clint’s chest at Bond’s proclamation. That couldn’t possibly be true, but it was clear Bond believed it and just as clear he intended to keep the scarf. Clint was familiar with the way Bond’s fingers curled around the threadbare material, touching as much of it as possible without risking damage to the scarf. It was the same way he’d held it many times when he needed the small amount of comfort the scarf could bring, and he itched to hold it that way now. “No, it’s not,” he insisted, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. “It was my mother’s. I’ve had it ever since she died. Now give it back!”

He reached for it, heedless of the IV in his hand, but Bond took a step back and pressed the scarf against his chest. “No. This is the scarf my mother was wearing when she died. I don’t know how your mother got it, but I assure you, it belongs to me.”

Clint moved without thinking, desperately grabbing for the scarf as Bond pulled it further out if his reach. His fingers brushed against the soft material but refused to close around it and he let out a wireless cry as it slipped away. He tried again, ignoring the pain in his hand and the alarmed cries of his name as he reached. The scarf swung away then back toward him and he managed to catch the fringe between two fingers just as the pressure on his shoulder forced him back down on the bed. As the scarf slipped from his grasp, the bead on the end popped off and rolled into the corner behind the chair where it vanished into the shadows.

Tears welled in Clint’s eyes, threatening to fall now, and he struggled against the force pinning him to the bed. “Easy, malysh,” Natasha said, her voice surprisingly close to his ear. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I don’t care.” Clint tried to twist free and only then realized she was lying on top of him, pinning his entire left side to the bed. Phil still had a firm grip on his right hand which left only his injured leg free. “Let me up.”

“No.” Natasha shifted so she was lying with her hands folded on Clint’s chest and rested her chin on them. It was a deceptively relaxed pose, but Clint wasn’t stupid enough to think he could throw her off. At full strength, he might be able to manage it, but injured and drugged, he didn’t have a chance.

“We’re not going to let you hurt yourself more, Clint.” Phil’s grip on his hand was loose now, but Clint had no doubt it would tighten again if he made a move for the scarf.

He had to get it back. “Please. I need—” He swallowed and blinked, trying to hold back his tears. Phil would understand. Phil had to understand. He always did. Clint just had to explain it right and words were eluding him at the moment. “You can’t let him leave with it.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Legolas.” Tony said, sounding oddly reassuring considering he’d offered to replace the scarf not ten minutes earlier. “No one’s going anywhere.”

Tony wasn’t the person who was supposed to answer him, but the knowledge that no one was leaving calmed Clint enough to look around the room. Tony was standing in front of the door, blocking it with more ego and bravado than physical presence. The headset in his ear was blinking, letting Clint know JARVIS was listening in, and he had no doubt that by the time Bond got past Tony, JARVIS would have the hospital security systems under his control.

Next to Tony, Steve and Thor had Bond pinned against the wall. He was close enough to the door it was clear he’d tried to leave during the commotion, but it was just as clear he wasn’t going anywhere. Thor had one large hand curled around Bond’s bicep and the other pressed against his shoulder. Steve mirrored Thor’s pose on the other side, one hand pressed against Bond’s shoulder, the other holding his wrist, carefully keeping the scarf where Clint could see it.

He’d never been more grateful for teammates who understood what he needed in his life.

Bruce wasn’t immediately visible, but before Clint could start to worry, he stepped out from the corner where Clint had seen the bead vanish and came to stand by the bed. He nodded at Phil, who loosened his grip on Clint’s hand just enough for Bruce to press something into it. “Try to calm down,” Bruce said, smiling sardonically, “we’ve got this.”

Clint tried to curl one finger around the bead but was still too uncoordinated from the drugs to manage properly. Instead, Phil pressed their hands together again, holding the bead between them so Clint could feel the glass pressing into his palm. It calmed Clint more than anything else, and he nodded his thanks as Bruce stepped back to hover in the corner.

With the reassuring feeling of the bead pressed between his palm and Phil’s, Clint returned his gaze to the scarf and the man holding it. Bond somehow managed to look unruffled while held against the wall by Captain America and an Asgardian demigod, an impressive feat, but Clint was more concerned about the way the scarf was hanging from his hand, the end brushing against Steve’s and Thor’s legs where they were blocking Bond in. Intellectually, he knew neither Thor nor Steve would do anything to endanger the scarf, just as he knew Bruce wasn’t going to transform here and Tony wouldn’t fire anything even close to the scarf, but it looked like the scarf was in danger.

He didn’t like it.

Instinctively, he looked up at Phil. He wasn’t going to be able to lunge for the scarf again, he knew that, but maybe Phil would get it back for him. Even if he couldn’t hold it, he’d feel better if it were someplace safe. “I need—”

Steve cut him off. “We have this, Clint.” As he turned back to Bond, Steve drew on his Captain America persona despite having changed out of the costume while Clint was unconscious. “Now, why don’t you give me that scarf, sir? I don’t think it’s in anyone’s best interest for either you or Clint to hold it right now.”

Bond drew himself up straighter and looked Steve straight in the eyes. “I don’t think you’re the right person to hold it either.”

“Are you saying I can’t be trusted?” Steve raised an eyebrow.

“I’m saying I don’t know you.”

“That’s Captain Honesty,” Tony snarked form his position in front of the door. “He stands for Truth, Justice, and the Right to do whatever we damn well please.”

“Tony!”

“Okay, not the last one—that’s me—but seriously. You’d recognize Spangles here if he hadn’t changed out of the Stars and Stripes while we were waiting for Hawkeye here to get out of the surgery _you_ made him need.” The annoyed look Tony sent Bond while saying that left Clint feeling warm inside.

“Thank you, Tony.” Steve tried to calm Tony down, but Tony wasn’t having any of it.

“Seriously,” he said, completely ignoring Steve. “Just hand the scarf over. If it’s yours—and I’m not saying it is—you can trust Captain America to give it back to you.”

“Very well. If it will get you stop your blathering.” Bond said, rolling his eyes at Tony. “Only you,” he added as he jerked the hand holding the scarf.

Steve released Bond’s wrist. “Fine.”

The moment the scarf was in Steve’s hand, Clint relaxed. It wasn’t what he wanted—that was the scarf in his own possession and for Bond to have never stepped into the room—but he trusted Steve to keep it safe for him. “Thank you,” he whispered too softly for half the occupants of the room to hear him.

Steve nodded his acknowledgement. “Now, why don’t we all sit down and see if we can figure this out. I don’t know why we almost had an international incident over this scarf, but I can see it means something to both of you. We need to know how.”

Clint didn’t like Steve acknowledging his mother’s scarf meant something to Bond too, but it wasn’t as though he was going anywhere. Even if Natasha let him up, he was still injured and drugged and not medically cleared to get out of bed. Now that he wasn’t panicking about the scarf, he had no reason to try to get up. “All right.”

Natasha rolled off Clint then and perched on the edge of the bed. She could easily pin him again, especially with his reaction time dulled, but the hand she put on his shoulder was comforting rather than restraining. “I would like to know as well. Clint’s had this scarf as long as I’ve known him.” It was as clear a defense as she could give, and Clint appreciated it more than he could say, though he tried to convey some of his gratitude by squeezing her knee.

“Well, Mr. Bond?” Phil stayed standing on Clint’s other side, though he made himself more comfortable by leaning against the bed. Clint scooted toward him, giving Natasha more room, and ended up with his shoulder pressed against Phil’s hip

Bond strained against the hands holding him to the wall and glared at Steve. “If you release me.”

Steve nodded at Thor and they both stepped back. As Bond crossed his arms, seemingly making himself comfortable against the wall, Thor turned to Tony. “Come, Tony. Let us fetch chairs from the waiting area so we can have this conversation in comfort. I, too, would like to know how this man can lay claim to Clint’s scarf, but I fear it will not be a brief conversation.”

Clint feared the same. As Thor left with Tony, he nudged at Natasha and Phil until they’d moved enough for him to raise the head of the bed a little. If he had to have this conversation, he wasn’t going to do it lying flat on his back.

He didn’t take his eyes off the scarf the entire time Thor and Tony were gone. It was safe in Steve’s hands, he knew that, but the knowledge did nothing to quell the irresistible urge he had to snatch it back and hold it close. Bond didn’t look like he was going to do anything at the moment, but Clint couldn’t forget the way his fingers had curled possessively around the scarf or the surety in his voice as he claimed it for his own. The memory of Bond clutching the scarf to his chest would haunt Clint’s nightmares, he was sure. As much as he trusted Steve, Clint wasn’t going to be able to relax until it was safely in his hands again.

“Relax. Steve isn’t going to let him take your scarf,” Phil murmured. He rubbed his thumb over the back of Clint’s hand in a gesture that was far more comforting than his soft words.

Clint squeezed Phil’s hand in response, pressing the gold bead tightly between their palms, but he didn’t dare speak. He couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t say something that would set Bond off again and with half his backup gone, that wasn’t a risk he was willing to take.

Phil sighed, but before he could encourage Clint to speak, the door banged open and Tony strode in. His usual flair was hampered slightly by the two chairs he was carrying, but his eyes sparked mischievously and his grin was unrepentant as he _accidentally_ bumped one of them into Bond.

“Oops. Sorry,” he said, not looking or sounding at all repentant. “Not much room in here. You might want to—” He scooted a little father into the room and knocked the second chair against Bond’s legs. “Damn. Well, that one’s yours. Have a seat.”

Bond did with remarkable aplomb as Tony sat in the first chair he’d brought in and Steve and Thor took up position in the chairs he had carried with considerably more grace than Tony had managed. Bruce had sat in the room’s original chair while Tony and Thor were gone, and as the others took their seats, he scooted it slightly to complete the semi-circle of chairs facing the bed.

Clint squirmed a little under the scrutiny, his eyes never leaving the scarf. It felt like they were all waiting for him to say something, but there was nothing he could say. The scarf was his, had been with him through the best and worst times of his life, but he couldn’t articulate that without seeming like a whiny child who wanted his blanket since he couldn’t have his mommy. Maybe if he were free from the haze of pain and drugs, he’d be able to express it better, to tell the story of the scarf without seeming weak and pathetic, but at the moment it was beyond him and he couldn’t force himself to open his mouth.

Phil cleared his throat in that quiet way he did when he was about to take charge of a situation and somehow fix everything, but Clint felt more than the slightest hint of relief, Steve held up his hand. “If you don’t mind, Agent Coulson, I think it would be best if I took this one. You aren’t precisely unbiased here.”

“And _you_ are?”

Bond’s disbelief was evident, but Steve dismissed it with a flat look. “I’m the most unbiased person you’re going to get for this conversation, son. I won’t let you walk away with Agent Barton’s scarf, but I’m willing to listen to your side of the story and see if we can come up with a solution. That’s more than most people would give you.”

Bond conceded the point with a tip of his head. “Very well. Proceed.”

Steve nodded and drew himself up, but he looked as lost as Clint felt. It wasn’t something anyone who didn’t know him well would notice, but Clint did and he squeezed Phil’s hand as he tried to stay calm. He trusted Steve both personally and to lead in the field, but this was different. It wasn’t a battle and it went beyond sharing confidence. Trusting Steve with this required Clint to trust him more than he’d really trusted anyone since Barney had betrayed him. Phil and Natasha had earned that trust. Steve and the rest of the team were close, but blindly extending it was still hard to do.

Steve caught Clint’s eye and there was something in his gaze that let Clint relax just a little. He couldn’t believe that things were going to be okay—he wouldn’t be able to until the scarf was safely back in his hands—but he could believe Steve was going to do everything he could to make sure it would be. At the moment, that was enough.

Clint nodded, signaling for Steve to proceed, and even managed to keep his face on Steve instead of the scarf for a few seconds. It wasn’t much, but it was apparently enough, and Steve returned Clint’s nod with a small smile.

“Tell me about the scarf,” Steve said, looking at Bond. “Why do you think it’s yours?”

“It was my mother’s,” Bond said softly. His fingers twitched as if he wanted to reach out for it, but his hands never left his knees. “She was wearing it the day she died.”

“When did she pass?”

“A long time ago. I was just a child.” Bond settled back in the chair, his gaze unfocused as he called up the memory. “She loved that scarf, wore it every occasion possible. It was completely impractical at Skyfall, but she put it on for church every week and sometimes she’d wear it around the house simply because she could. I’d always ask to touch it when she did that, and she’d tell me not to play with the beads. I always did. They were my favorite part.”

Clint’s mother had always said the same thing when he asked to touch it. For the first few weeks after she’d died, he’d kept the scarf close, but hadn’t dared touch the beads. He was convinced his mother was coming back no matter how often people told him she wasn’t, and he thought she’d know and be mad if he touched them. It had taken taunting from Barney to get him to do more than let them brush against his hand as he held the scarf. A tiny part of him was still convinced that first deliberate transgression all those weeks after her death was what had sealed his mother’s fate and kept her from coming back to them.

He hated that he could sympathize with Bond’s story. It was supposed to be completely implausible, not dredge up memories Clint didn’t need to think about at the moment. Bond’s claim coupled with painkillers making him overly emotional already had Clint on edge. He would completely lose the little control he had if he spent much time thinking about the lonely weeks after his parents died. “That doesn’t—”

“Clint.” Steve cut him off gently but firmly. “Let me. Please.”

“Okay.” He would try, anyway, because Steve deserved that much and it was his best chance at getting the scarf back, but he’d never been much better than Tony at keeping his mouth shut. “Sorry.”

Steve turned to look at Bond. “How do you know it’s the same scarf? I’m not an expert on women’s fashion, but I know this can’t be the only purple scarf with gold beads ever made.”

“It’s the only one with this pattern. It’s handmade.” He pointed to the corner of the scarf, which made Clint flinch. “You can see the mark from the silk maker in Lyon there.”

“And you remember a silk maker’s mark from when you were a kid?” Tony looked down his nose at Bond, an eyebrow arched elegantly. “I was raised to recognize the little marks that show something is authentic, and I wouldn’t have recognized a silk maker’s mark in my mother’s scarves. Not until I was a teenager, at least.”

“Probably because all of your mother’s scarves had one,” Bond retorted in a tone that somehow managed to dismiss the intrinsic value in a collection of handmade silk scarves. “My mother had _one_ scarf with a silk maker’s mark. The rest of her scarves were nice, but not the real thing. When I asked her what made this one so special, she told me about her honeymoon in France. She and my father had been going to ski in the Alps and were stranded in Lyon when the weather closed the roads. They spent the entire trip in this little hotel and on the last day, my father went out and bought this scarf for her. He said she should have something nice to remember the trip, even though it hadn’t gone as planned.”

Clint’s blood ran cold. That was the same story his mother had told him when he asked why his father was so angry. His mother always smiled sadly and told him things had happened before he was born that upset daddy, but he hadn’t always been like this. She would tell him how his father used to be a wonderful man and tell the story of their honeymoon to show how nice his father had been once. She never remembered she’d already told the story, but she always looked so happy thinking about it Clint never interrupted her.

He clutched Phil’s hand tighter as he felt the blood drain from his face. The bead was digging into his palm now and he had to be hurting Phil with his grip, but he couldn’t let go. “How do you know that story?” he whispered, barely able to force the words out. “You can’t—”

“Clint.” Natasha took him by both shoulders as she leaned over him, blocking his view of both Bond and the scarf. “What’s wrong? You’re shaking.”

Clint lifted his free hand and saw that it was indeed trembling. He took a deep breath, but even with Natasha blocking his view of almost everyone else, he could still feel their gazes on him and it did nothing to calm him down. “I—” He tried another deep breath. “My—” He couldn’t do this.

Phil leaned in then, pushing Natasha out of the way a little, and gently lowered the hand Clint was still holding up back down to the bed. “Breathe with me, Clint,” he said in that same calm voice that had talked Clint through so many bad situations.

Clint tried, but it was harder than it should have been. It was only as he tried to match his breathing to Phil’s that he realized he was almost hyperventilating. It took some time for him to succeed, but when his breathing finally slowed, a strange calm overtook him. He looked down at the weight on his chest—Phil’s hand where resting over his heart—and managed to make his mouth work. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Phil waited for Clint to look up and smiled when their eyes met. “Are you all right?”

“I don’t know.” Clint looked down again, silently cursing himself for reacting like this. He was a master assassin, one of SHIELD’s top agents, and an Avenger. He shouldn’t be this thrown because some other super spy knew his mother’s story. There was a logical explanation, there had to be, but he wasn’t going to get it by panicking.

“Clint?” Steve asked in the same tone he used when talking to stunned civilians. “Can you tell us what just happened?”

Clint bit his bottom lip and looked at Phil for moral support. He could do this, maybe, but not on his own.

Phil nodded even though he had no idea what Clint was about to say and kissed Clint’s temple. “I got you,” he whispered before he pulled back and took his former position at Clint’s side.

Natasha took Clint’s other hand as she settled back next to him, and between her and Phil, Clint felt secure enough to try this. “My mother told the same story. Not about the mark, but when she wanted to remember my father wasn’t always an abusive drunk. She talked about it just like that too. The honeymoon trip to the Alps, being stranded in Lyon, getting the scarf on their last day there.” He looked straight at Bond for the first time since Bond tried to claim the scarf for his own. “How did you know my mother’s story?”

“It’s _my_ mother’s story,” Bond said with enough conviction Clint almost believed him. “I don’t know how your mother got the scarf or the story, but I don’t appreciate her taking either.”

“Maybe she didn’t.” Tony held up his hands as everyone turned to look at him. “What? You can’t talk me none of you have thought of this yet. Bruce?”

Bruce took off his glasses and cleaned them on the hem of his shirt. “It, ah, seems unlikely.”

Tony beamed as though Bruce had just wholeheartedly endorsed his idea. “But not impossible.”

“No. Not impossible. Just statistically improbable.”

“What isn’t impossible?” Clint demanded. Bruce and Tony would tell them eventually, but it could be an hour before they stopped tossing adjectives back and forth and decided to clue the rest of the room in.

“That you’re both right,” Tony said in that infuriating way he had of assuming the least helpful answer was the best one. When Clint just kept starting at him, waiting for a real answer, he sighed. “Look. You both claim that the same handmade, one-of-a-kind belonged to your mother. You both have the same story about how she got it. Maybe the answer isn’t that one of you is lying or that Clint’s mom somehow got the scarf from Bond’s mother.”

Clint didn’t like where this was going. “Then what could it be?”

Tony looked at him with an unusually serious expression, the care he usually hid on full display. “Maybe you have the same mother.”

Bond clenched his hands so tightly his knuckles turned white. “My parents died when I was a child.”

“Yes, and no one _ever_ fakes their own death,” Tony said, rolling his eyes toward Phil.

Clint about leaped from the bed to throttle Tony for his reproachful glance, but Phil tapped his thumb on the back of Clint’s hand, telling him to stand down. “It wasn’t my choice, Mr. Stark,” he said in a bland voice that hurt Clint almost as much as Tony’s offhand comment had. He hated thinking about the time when he’d thought Phil was dead, and he hated even more that Phil was so matter-of-fact about it.

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony waved one hand dismissively. “It was for a good cause. Fate of the world and all that.”

“Tony!” Steve looked at him in reproach. “This is serious.”

“It’s actually not impossible,” Bruce pointed out diffidently. “I, ah, don’t know exactly how old either of you are, but I’d guess there’s at least a ten year age difference. If Agent Bond’s mother faked her death when he was a child, she could have relocated to the States and had Clint.”

“I was _nine_.” Bond sounded offended that anyone was even considering the idea.

Clint didn’t blame him. He was too. They should be convincing Bond the scarf wasn’t his, not entertaining Tony’s crazy thoughts. “And Barney is three years older than me.”

“So twelve years then. Maybe thirteen.” Bruce shrugged. “It’s still possible.”

“Doctor Banner.” Steve sounded pained. “We need to focus on figuring this out, not weaving a fairy tale.”

“Surely if there is any truth to this theory, there would be a means to verify it,” Thor interjected as Tony opened his mouth to start what would surely have been an epic tirade.

“Good point,” Tony said instead. “How old are you, Legolas?”

Clint thought about not answering out of spite, but he knew Tony wouldn’t drop the idea until he did. “Thirty three.”

Tony nodded and turned his piercing stare toward Bond. “And you?”

“Forty six,” Bond ground out through clenched teeth. “This proves nothing, though.”

“Only that it’s possible.” Tony preened. “You people should know better than to doubt me by now.”

“You’re not helping, Tony.” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. The serum was supposed to keep him from getting ill, but Clint suspected it did nothing for headaches that had names attached to them. He was getting one of those himself, despite the painkillers, and he really, really wanted this conversation to be over.

“Maybe it is _possible_ ,” he said before Tony had a chance to protest. “It doesn’t solve anything, though.” It made things worse, actually. Clint had already been betrayed by an older brother. He didn’t need another, especially not one who started out by shooting at him.

“Perhaps not,” Thor conceded, “but do you not wish to know if Tony is correct?”

“He’s not,” Bond insisted at the same time Clint said “Not really.”

Phil shifted just enough that Clint knew he wasn’t going to like what was coming. “I think we need to know at this point,” he said softly. “We can’t risk either of you being compromised and there’s enough evidence it could be used against you.” He tried to squeeze Clint’s hand in apology, but Clint didn’t want it. He pulled away, curling his fingers clumsily around the bead, and leaned toward Natasha.

“Circumstantial evidence no one should know about,” he pointed out, trying his best not to feel betrayed. Phil always saw the big picture, always thought long-term, Clint knew, but he was also supposed to support Clint, especially right now. Tony’s theory had the potential to change everything. Phil wasn’t supposed to let that happen.

“It’s still a risk, Clint. We need to know.” Phil folded his hands in his lap and looked down at them thoughtfully. “We don’t have to tell SHIELD and MI6, though, unless we confirm Stark is correct.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Bond asked skeptically. He didn’t sound any happier about the idea than Clint felt. “MI6 monitors any lab we could send DNA to and I imagine SHIELD does as well.”

“That’s why we won’t send it to a lab.” Phil smirked, looking far too pleased. Usually Clint appreciated the deft way Phil could work—or work around—the system, but not this time. This time, he hated it. “Mr. Stark, if we provide samples, can JARVIS run them?”

“What?” Tony blinked as though he hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation. “Oh, yeah, of course. It’s more complicated than what I can do with just the suit, but if I can get samples back to the tower or get access to a lab here, JARVIS can run them no problem.”

“That’s settled then,” Phil said as though he’d managed to solve all their problems. “We’ll have JARVIS run them when we can get samples back to the tower. In the meantime, don’t do anything stupid.”

“I think you’ve got the monopoly on that today,” Clint whispered. He rolled as far toward Natasha as he could with his leg propped, squeezed his eyes shut, and hoped everyone would take the hint. He couldn’t deal with this anymore today.

 

When Clint opened his eyes again, the room was empty except for Phil sitting in the lone chair by the bed. He looked worn and worried, but he smiled softly as Clint blinked. “You’re awake.”

Clint fought back the urge to reach for Phil. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did, honestly, with the drugs they have you on. You aren’t exactly known for your tolerance.”

Clint scowled at the reminder. He reacted strongly to anything with the potential to cause drowsiness and he’d dropped off in the middle of more than one conversation thanks to painkillers. The most memorable had been while Phil was confessing his feelings while yelling at Clint for doing something reckless and landing in the hospital yet again, but he’d fallen asleep during other important conversations too. “What’d I miss?”

Phil held up Clint’s scarf. “Bruce pointed out that unless Bond could prove the scarf had been stolen from his mother, it belonged to you regardless of who its prior owner was. Bond wasn’t happy about it, but he agreed Bruce had a valid point and he agreed to let you keep it at least until Stark runs the DNA tests.”

Clint took the offered scarf eagerly and clutched it to his chest. “About that....”

Phil sighed as he scooted his chair closer. “We need to know, Clint. You don’t have to do anything with it even if Stark is right, but it’s too dangerous for both of you if we don’t find out.”

“I can’t be emotionally compromised by someone I don’t know.” Clint rolled one of the beads on the scarf between his fingers. He stopped as he remembered the one that had popped off and looked at Phil with wide eyes. “Where—?”

“In my pocket. It’s safe.” Phil pulled the single bead from his inside jacket pocket and held it up for Clint to see. He dropped it back in after Clint nodded and patted his jacket to be sure it had landed properly. “What if Stark is right and someone else finds proof? Do you really think you wouldn’t be compromised then? You need to know so you can be prepared. I need to know so I can keep you safe.”

Clint closed his eyes and tried to imagine being presented with irrefutable proof Bond was his brother while on a mission. Phil was right. He wouldn’t deal with that well, but he would have been willing to take the risk if not for the look in Phil’s eyes as he talked about keeping Clint safe. “Fine. We can find out. But that’s all. I’m not playing Happy Family if Tony is right.”

“You don’t have to.” Phil took Clint's hand and Clint tried not to clutch at it as thought it were the lifeline it felt like. “It’ll be fine.”

Clint wanted to believe Phil, he did, but he suspected this was one time Phil wasn’t going to be right.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long. I've been sick and I'm on a deadline for my original stuff, but I promise I'm not abandoning this story. It's just getting started.
> 
> For those of you who were wondering, yes, there will be chapters from Bond's point of view. I had to get through Clint's emotional arc first. And now I have to go see Skyfall again. (It will be a terrible hardship, let me tell you. *giggles*) Chapter Four will be from Bond's point of view and will start introducing the other characters from Bond's side.

Clint leaned heavily on his crutches and rested his forehead against the glass wall that separated Tony’s lab from the stairs and elevator bay. The keypad lit up the moment his skin touched the glass but the code to unlock the door did him little good at the moment. He didn’t think he could lift a hand from his crutches to enter the numbers without falling over even if he rested as much of his weight against the wall as he dared.

“JARVIS, can you...?” Clint winced at how out of breath he was from the short walk. Every muscle in his body ached like they had when he first woke up in the hospital three days ago, and his calf throbbed painfully. He should have listened to Phil and taken his pain medication before he’d come down here, but he’d decided to get it over with and hadn’t wanted to wait the extra half an hour until he could take the next round of pills. He’d thought he would be done and back by then. Now, he wasn’t sure he’d make it inside the lab before it was time for another dose.

“Of course, sir.” JARVIS’s smooth voice interrupted Clint's musing, and the door slid open as he pushed himself away from the wall. He felt every cut and bruise he’d gotten in the fall as he twisted around and swung himself through the door and by the time he got halfway across the lab, it was only sheer willpower that kept him from collapsing to the floor.

Tony noticed him when he was about ten feet away and called for JARVIS to silence the music as he looked Clint over critically. “Jesus, Barton, you look like shit.”

“Thanks.” Crutches with bruised ribs were a terrible idea, particularly when painkillers had worn off. Clint should have remembered that; if he had, he might not have sounded like an eighty year-old asthmatic as he made his way toward Tony. “I feel even better.”

“Clearly.” Tony pushed one of his rolling chairs over to Clint and positioned it behind him. “Sit.”

The idea was tempting, but, “If I sit, I’m not going to get back up.”

“That’s kind of the idea.” Tony held onto the chair with one hand and held the other out to Clint. “I don’t know why Agent let you come down here like this, but seriously, if you needed me for something, you could have just asked JARVIS. He can take care of anything.”

“He can’t run my DNA if you don’t have it.”

“Yes, because I wouldn’t have come to you.” Tony’s tone made it abundantly clear what he thought of that idea. “Now, come on, undo that death grip you have on those crutches and sit. People are going to yell at me if I let you keep standing.”

“Well, if people are going to yell at _you_....” Relaxing his grip on the crutches was harder than it should have been, and if Tony hadn’t been there to brace both him and the chair, Clint wasn’t sure he’d have managed to sit without crashing to the floor. He really should have listened when the doctors warned him using the crutches would be difficult for the first few days.

“Knew you’d see it my way.” Tony pushed Clint over to a bank of computers and snatched his crutches as he shoved a stool toward him. “How’d you get in, anyway? You didn’t look like you could let go of those walking sticks long enough to blink, much less enter your code.”

It was amazing how much Tony noticed when he appeared to be self-absorbed. “Asked JARVIS.” Clint glanced toward the nearest speaker he could see. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“It was my pleasure, sir.”

Tony rolled his eyes and rummaged through drawers looking for something. “You’re not supposed to just open the door, J. What if Clint had been a shape-shifter?”

“His vital signs indicated he was in genuine pain, sir, as did his voice print. I am able to override door security in the event of injury. I felt this qualified.”

“Fair enough.” Tony turned back to Clint, a cotton swab in his hand. “Open up, gimpy.”

“Wha—” Tony shoved the cotton swab on Clint's mouth and started rubbing it against the inside of his cheek. Clint glared, but with his mouth hanging open and his head aching to the point that he couldn't focus, it was much less effective than usual. “Aut ah oo ooig?”

“What was that?” Tony smirked as he pulled the swab out. “Were you trying to ask me something?”

Clint narrowed his glare as he moved his jaw back and forth a few times. “I said, ‘what are you doing?’”

“Getting a DNA sample.” Tony carried the swab over to a cluster of gadgets in the corner and did something Clint couldn't see. “Now we just have to wait for JARVIS to run it.”

“That's it? Really?” For some reason, Clint had thought it would be more complicated than that. It deserved to be more complicated. Whatever JARVIS found had the potential to change Clint's entire life and it just felt wrong to have it happen so easily. “I hobbled all the way down here for you to shove a Q-tip in my mouth?”

“Yep.” Tony didn't look at all repentant. “Told you that you should've asked JARVIS.”

Fuck. The idea of walking all the way back across the lab to the elevator and then into his apartment was exhausting, but Clint didn't have any reason to stay in the lab. “Oh. Uh. Give me my crutches?”

“Yeah. No.” Tony sprawled in one of the other chairs and used his foot to turn Clint's so they were facing each other. “You're going to wait here with me, and I'm going to have JARVIS tell Agent to bring you the good drugs. Got that, J?”

“Indeed, sir. Agent Coulson is already on his way.”

Clint scowled and focused on being annoyed so he wouldn't have to think about the panic he felt at the idea of being trapped. Tony would help him leave before he trapped him here, Clint knew that, but he hated being stuck without an easy way out. “I don't need a babysitter,” he said, slumping in the chair. He'd be able to push it faster that way if he really needed to leave. “I'm an adult, remember? An _assassin_.”

“Yes. And you're absolutely terrifying right now.”

That was just insulting. Clint could think of at least five ways to kill Tony without getting up and he could implement three of them without causing himself much more pain. “I am.”

Tony laughed as he leaned back in his chair. “Don't get your panties in a twist. You're going to want to be down here when JARVIS finishes comparing your DNA to the Super Secret Agent's. Seems silly to let you walk all the way back to your room just so you can turn around and come back. You'll just hurt yourself more.”

“I didn't know you cared,” Clint said, trying to ignore the warm feeling that spread through him.

“Who says I do? I'm looking out for me,” Tony said in that extra jovial voice he used when he was trying to pretend he didn't care about the people around him. “I own the building. If I let you leave and you fall and hurt yourself more, I'm liable. I have no doubt your boyfriend would take me for everything I've got. Wouldn't you, Agent?”

“I would never do such a thing to Ms Potts,” Phil said mildly as he stepped into the lab. His expression was as bland as usual, but Clint could hear the underlying amusement in his tone and saw the crinkles at the corners of his eyes that only showed up when he was amused. They were frequently present around Tony, though Phil would deny it if asked.

Tony sputtered, slightly thrown by Phil's refusal to play along. “Well, good. Pep didn't need any more to deal with. I keep her busy enough.” He spun his chair back toward Clint. “You still don't get to go anywhere until I'm convinced you won't collapse halfway there.”

Clint scowled again, but it didn't have any real heat behind it. His irritation had faded in the face of Tony's poorly disguised concern, and the panic he'd felt at the idea of being stuck was fine now that Phil was here. “Fine. Since you're obviously going to pine when I leave, I'll stay for a while.”

Phil handed Clint a bottle of water and two pills. "We can go back to our apartment if you want. I'm sure JARVIS would be happy to let us know when he's done."

The idea of stretching out on their sinfully comfortable bed was a tempting one, but Clint still ached too much to make getting to it practical. “Nah. I'm good here.” He flashed a smile he was sure wouldn't fool Phil and swallowed the pills along with half the bottle of water. “We should stay and make sure Tony doesn't get too lonely.”

“Aww, buttercup, I didn't know you cared!”

“I don't, but if we're down here, Phil can stop you from doing anything stupid and then he won't have a headache later.”

“You know, endorphins are great for headaches. You could take Agent—”

“That's enough, Mr. Stark.” Phil's lips twitched as he looked down at Clint. “I'm not the one who needs endorphins to help with pain at the moment.”

Tony laughed and conceded the point with a nod that did nothing to hide the wicked gleam in his eyes. “Well, by all means, go ahead. I don't won't stop you.”

“Knowledge of what Clint sounds like during sex is classified,” Phil said, deadpan, as he sat on the couch and turned on his tablet. He was wearing casual clothes today, jeans and a sweater instead of his usual suit, but even dressed down and sitting on the couch in Tony's lab, he managed to look like he was here on business.

It was unfair of Phil to look that competent here, where Clint might be able to take advantage of it if there weren't fifteen feet separating them. He silently cursed his leg and the mission and especially Bond as Tony sputtered and threatened to have JARVIS record the next time they had sex. “You working today?” he asked Phil, heading off an argument between Tony and JARVIS about the ethics of recording and Phil's ability to find all of JARVIS's overrides.

“I have a few things I need to take care of. Nothing I can't do here, though.”

It was reassuring to know Phil wouldn't leave, especially today, but Clint wished he didn't have to work at all and especially that he didn't have to do it halfway across the room. His presence wasn't as comforting when Clint couldn't touch him. “Anything I can't see?”

“No.” Phil smiled knowingly and shifted to make room on the couch. “You can join me if you'll be more comfortable.”

The chair Tony had maneuvered Clint into was perfectly comfortable—Tony Stark didn't buy anything less—but it didn't let him lean against Phil and silently draw on his strength as they waited for news. It wouldn't let him clutch Phil's hand as JARVIS announced the results or bury his face in Phil's shoulder if the answer was the one he dreaded. He couldn't say any of that, though, wouldn't even if Tony hadn't been there, so he just shrugged.

Understanding flashed through Phil's eyes. “Clint, come sit here. You'll be more comfortable.”

Clint glanced between his crutches and the couch and wondered if it would be easier to push the chair with his good leg or hop. Before he could decide, Tony grabbed the back of it and steered him to the couch the same way he'd steered him to the center of the room earlier. “Agent's right. These chairs are awesome, but they're for working, not lounging.”

Before Clint processed what was happening, Tony and Phil maneuvered him onto the couch and propped his injured leg up on the chair. He grumbled as he settled in and pressed himself against Phil as much as he could without making it obvious he needed the contact right now, but he had to admit the couch was more comfortable. The soft cushions cradled him without aggravating his bruises and sore muscles, and the seat was deep enough he would have been able to comfortably lie down if he weren't almost cuddling Phil. “It's nice,” he said as he tucked his hands under his legs so he wouldn't be tempted to hold Phil's hand.

Tony threw his hands up. “That couch is more than _nice_. It's fantastic. Superb, even. It's my couch. I don't have anything that's just nice.” He wandered back to the workstation he'd been at when Clint had come down, still muttering to himself.

Phil waited until Tony's back was turned, then gently pulled Clint's hand out from under his leg and threaded their fingers together. “Tony isn't going to care. None of the team does. They all know we're together.”

“I know.” Clint looked down at their joined hands and tried to tell himself it was okay to clutch Phil before JARVIS announced the results. Phil knew why Clint wanted Tony to be wrong and would understand why Clint's heart raced like a jackrabbit in his chest and why he was sure his hand would shake if he tried to pull it away. Phil had listened the first time Clint told anyone the whole story about what his brother had done and had sat by Clint's side every time he'd told the story since. Phil understood as well as anyone who hadn't lived it possibly could and would never judge Clint for needing a little extra support right now.

That didn't stop Clint from feeling weak for wanting it.

Phil squeezed Clint's hand, the gesture more comforting than any words could have been. He didn't know why Clint was feeling so vulnerable, couldn't when Clint didn't know how to articulate it, but that didn't matter. He was there for whatever Clint needed; no matter what he needed or when he needed it. That knowledge was what had gotten Clint through many hard assignments and it was what would get Clint through this, no matter how it turned out.

“Can you tell me why you didn't want Tony to see then?” Phil asked softly as he relaxed his grip.

Clint could easily pull his hand free now, if he wanted to, but he didn't. He just squeezed back and tried to put his thoughts in some sort of order. The idea of another brother had thrown him back to those bad days toward the end of his time in the circus, when he’d still been trying to hang on to things with Barney. Then, Barney had used even the slightest sign of weakness against him, but it was hard to explain to Phil why holding his hand felt like being weak. “I don’t want Tony to be right.”

Phil made a non-committal sound and swiped his free hand over the tablet screen, bringing up another app. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Clint appreciated the way Phil was carefully not making this a big deal. He knew he would have Phil’s complete attention if he wanted to talk, but until he said something, Phil would act as though Clint wasn’t privately freaking out.

It took Clint several minutes to gather the courage to talk. When he did, he could barely raise his voice above a whisper. “What if he’s like Barney?”

Phil set the tablet aside, turned without letting go of Clint's hand, and looked at him. “He’s an MI6 agent, Clint, not a jealous teenager.”

“And that’s all Barney was?” Clint choked out a soft, unamused laugh. “You think he wouldn’t have left me for dead if he’d been older when he was given the opportunity to betray me?”

“I think Barney didn’t understand loyalty,” Phil said, his tone full of understanding. “Whatever else he is, James Bond is an MI6 agent, one of their best. He wouldn’t have risen as high as he has if he wasn’t loyal.”

“It’s no different from Barney.” Clint pulled the edge of the scarf from the pocket of his hoodie and rubbed his fingers along it. “He has something else to be loyal to. There’s no need for him to be loyal to me.”

Phil pressed his lips into a thin line. “Do you need him to be? Three days ago, you wanted nothing to do with him, even if he is your brother. Why are you worried about it now?”

Clint pulled his hand back from Phil's and shoved it in his pocket. “I don’t, I guess.” He ruthlessly ignored the voice in the back of his head that had spent the last three days wondering what it would be like to have a brother who lived up to what he thought brothers were supposed to be. It was dangerous to think that way. If Tony was right and Clint let Bond in, Bond would just be another person who could betray him. Blood family had never been good for anything else.

Phil frowned and put his hand on Clint's leg. “Clint....”

“No, you're right.” Clint curled his hand into a fist as he resisted the urge to push Phil's hand away. It was meant to be a comforting gesture, he knew that, but at the moment, it made him feel trapped. He couldn't get up without risking further injury to his leg, couldn't push Phil away without hurting the man he loved.

“I didn't mean—”

“I know.” Clint pulled his hand out of his pocket and put it on top of Phil's. It made him feel less trapped and the relief that flashed across Phil's face calmed him a little. “I don't need Bond to be loyal to me. I have family who is loyal.” Clint's blood relatives may have done nothing but hurt and abandon him, but the family he'd made for himself—with Phil and Nat, with SHIELD, and now with the Avengers—had continually had his back. There was part of him that hoped Bond could live up to what he'd always dreamed a brother could be, just as there was part of him that would forever dream Barney would see the error of his ways, but he didn't _need_ Bond to be loyal.

Phil nodded, then cut straight to the heart of the matter. “Do you want him to be?”

“I don't know.” Three days ago Clint had meant it when he unequivocally said he wanted nothing to do with Bond even if they were brothers, but he'd had lots of time with nothing to do but think since then. “It could be nice, but I don't know that I'd ever trust him.” Barney and his father had scarred him too deeply for that.

“He might earn your trust,” Phil said mildly.

“Maybe.” At the moment, Clint wasn’t sure he'd ever trust Bond enough to give him that opportunity, but he knew better than to discount as completely impossible anything Phil believed.

“Sir,” JARVIS said before Clint could think too hard about what it would take for him to give Bond the opportunity to earn his trust. “I have finished comparing Agent Barton's DNA to Agent Bond's.”

Tony rolled his chair across the lab with one strong push then spun so he was facing Clint and Phil. “Well? Share with the class.”

“I thought perhaps Agent Barton might prefer to receive the results privately.”

Clint expected Tony to scoff, but instead he looked at Clint with one eyebrow raised questioningly. “Up to you.”

Clint was tempted for a moment, but there was little point in trying to keep it a secret. The entire team knew about the possibility and deserved to know the answer, Tony would pry it out of JARVIS as soon as Clint was gone no matter what he decided, and he had to tell Phil. Getting the answer alone would only mean he had to deal with it alone, not that it would stay a secret for long. “Thanks, JARVIS, but you can just tell us,” he said, squeezing Phil's hand tightly. He stuck his other hand deep into the pocket with the scarf and touched as much of it as he could, drawing as much courage from the soft fabric as he did from Phil's presence at his side.

“Very well. Based on the number and rarity of the markers that match between your DNA and Agent Bond's, I estimate there is a 97% probability you are full siblings.”

Clint's stomach lurched. He'd known since Bond told the story about their mother's scarf, but hearing JARVIS say it out loud made it real in a way it hadn't been before. His breath caught in his throat as he tightened his hand around the scarf, afraid now Bond would have a legitimate reason to claim it as his own and would demand it as soon as he found out.

Phil flipped his hand over and squeezed Clint's. “97%, JARVIS? You can't be more sure than that?”

“Unfortunately, no. It is impossible to determine sibling relationships with absolute certainty without a parental DNA sample as well. Given that Agent Barton's parents have been deceased for many years, I fear 97% is as certain as it is possible to be.”

“Thanks, JARVIS.” Clint took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Can I have my crutches, Tony? I think I'm going back to my place.”

Phil looked at Clint in concern. “Do you want me to come?”

Clint shook his head. He needed to be alone for a few minutes to process. “Can you tell the others? They should know, but I can't. Not yet.”

Phil nodded, though he didn't look happy. “Of course.” Clint was sure he would tell the others as quickly as possible and then hurry to their place, but it would give him a few minutes and that was all he needed. He didn't want to be alone for long.

Tony came over with Clint's crutches and looked at him with a surprisingly serious expression. “Are you okay?”

“I will be. It's not like this had to change anything, right?” It changed everything.

“Yeah, sure.” Tony didn't sound like he believed Clint any more than Clint believed himself, but he handed over the crutches and stepped back without another word.

Clint took them and levered himself up, grateful for Phil's supporting hand on his back even though he didn't need it. Once he was settled on the crutches, he turned back to Phil. “Come home after you tell the others?”

Phil stood, steadied Clint with hands on his shoulders, and kissed him softly. It was more intimate than they usually got in front of the others, especially Tony, who rarely passed up the opportunity for a quip, but Clint wasn't worried about what Tony would say right now. He melted into the kiss, trusting Phil to keep him upright, and only pulled back when his bruised body protested too much.

“I'll see you soon,” he said as he steadied himself on his crutches again. He let his gaze shift to Tony as he prepared to leave. “I really will be all right.”

“Of course you will,” Tony said as though there wasn't any doubt. “JARVIS, monitor Clint on his way back to his place, would you? Those drugs Agent gave him are going to kick in any minute now and it looks bad to have unconscious bodies in the hallway.”

Clint flipped Tony off and started for the door. He didn't need the concern, and he wasn't going to admit he appreciated it where Tony could hear.

 

Clint sighed as he sank into his couch and let his aching muscles relax again. The painkiller Phil had given him in the lab had started to help as they'd waited for JARVIS to work his magic, but the stress of confirming James Bond was his brother coupled with the strain of hobbling back to his apartment had undone all the good they'd accomplished. The gash in his leg throbbed in time with his heartbeat and his back and arm muscles, so used to the work of drawing a bow, cried out against the unfamiliar strain of using crutches.

He pulled the scarf from his hoodie once he was settled and carefully ran his fingers over every inch of the fabric. He paused in the stained corner and pressed his hand over Phil's dried blood as he wondered what Bond, no what James—if he was going to admit the man was his brother he was going to use his given name—would think of it. He hadn't liked it back in the hospital, Clint had picked up on that immediately, but maybe he'd give Clint a chance to explain what it was and why he'd left it like that. He wondered if James would understand the comfort it brought him or if he would only care about how it marred the last thing they had of their mother.

Clint tried to imagine not having the scarf, tried to picture not being able to press his hand against the corner whenever he missed Phil or need to be reminded how much he was loved, and failed. The scarf was as much a part of him as his bow, and he would feel as lost if either were taken away. The thought that it could be taken away left him feeling cold and empty, made his stomach clench and his hands tremble. He pressed his fingers against the darkened corner and wondered how many more times he'd be able to do this as he wished he hadn't sent Phil away.

He was still sitting there with his hand pressed against the scarf when Phil came in what could have been minutes or hours later. He looked up at the sound of the elevator opening and choked back a sob as Phil stepped into the room. “I didn't want to know.”

Phil's expression softened as he hurried across the room and sat next to Clint. “He's not going to do anything to hurt you.”

“You don't know that,” Clint said sadly, looking back down at the scarf. “And don't tell me you'll hurt him if he does. I don't need you or Nat it Tony or anyone to fight that battle for me. Besides, if I give him the power to hurt me, then you hurting him hurts me too.”

“So don't give him that power.”

Clint shook his head and wished it were that easy. “It's too late. Just acknowledging he's my brother did that.”

“You share genes, Clint, that's all. You don't have to have anything to do with him if you don't want to.”

“I do, though.” Clint had realized that while waiting for Phil. He and James were tied together now no matter how much either of them wished otherwise, and Clint wasn’t going to be the one to break that bond. “I have to tell him. And he's going to have questions.”

“That you don't have to answer,” Phil said firmly. “If you don't want to ever see him again, we'll make sure you don't have to. Tony can send a notice, or SHIELD can. We can keep all communication with him official and keep you out of it, if that's what you want.”

“I don't, though,” Clint said. He was as surprised as Phil looked to hear the words come out of his mouth and even more surprised to realize after a moment's pause he meant them. “I'm not going to be all buddy-buddy with him. I don't want to try to make up for lost time. But I can't pretend he doesn't exist.”

Phil looked at him carefully, his expression a strange combination of pride and concern. “You really want to get to know him.”

“I don't want to look back and wonder what I missed because I was too afraid to give him a chance.” Clint smiled wryly. “I jump off skyscrapers and fight aliens with a bow and arrows. I should be able to have a conversation with my brother.”

“Being able to do something and wanting to do something are different,” Phil pointed out dryly, though Clint could see a spark of pride in his eyes. “Just because you can have a conversation doesn’t mean you have to, or even that you should.”

Clint looked down at the scarf as he tried to formulate his thoughts. “I have no reason to think James won’t betray me. All my relatives have been good for that.” Even his mother, though hers at least had been beyond her control. Clint focused on that as he rubbed his thumb over the silk scarf. It was possible James took after her rather than their father, though Clint wouldn’t trust that for a long time. “I can’t start by betraying him, though. So I have to tell him. If he ends up hurting me, it’s not going to be because of anything I’ve done.”

Phil frowned and displeasure radiated off him. “Your father and Barney didn’t hurt you because of anything _you_ did.”

“I know that.” Clint turned to look at Phil and read the doubt on his face. “I do. Intellectually, anyway. It’s very easy to think about what I could have done differently, though. I could have been quieter as a kid or asked for less. I could have agreed to help Duquesne. Things like that. I know even if they’d made a difference, they ultimately wouldn’t have changed much, but it’s hard not to think like that.”

Phil’s expression could only be described as horrified. His hand twitched as though he wanted to touch Clint but didn’t dare. “Clint. I didn’t….” He knew Clint's past, of course, but Clint had never laid its effects out like that for him before. He probably wouldn’t have now if not for the painkillers lowering his inhibitions and loosening his tongue.

“It all worked out. I know the power of loyalty, and I have a family I can rely on. That’s what matters.” Clint tried to bump his shoulder against Phil’s but lost his balance and ended up sprawling across Phil’s lap instead. “Painkillers are kicking in.”

“So I see.” Phil put his hand on Clint’s shoulder. “I love you, and if you weren’t doped up and still in pain, I’d take you back to our bedroom and show you just how amazing I think you are.”

Clint hummed as he grinned up at Phil. “Later. I’ll appreciate it more.” He shifted around, getting more comfortable, but stayed on Phil’s lap. He loved it when they could be casually intimate like this without worrying about how it might affect their public personas. It happened too rarely, especially now that Clint was an Avenger. Neither of them was unrecognizable in public, and though they lived together in the tower, they rarely got long alone before someone wanted one of them for something. Clint was reasonably certain no one would disturb them for anything less than a call to assemble today, though, and he intended to relish it.

He just had one thing he had to take care of first. “There is a way you can show your appreciation now, though,” he said, keeping his voice deliberately light. Phil would see through it, but the deception was as much for Clint’s state of mind as to reassure Phil.

“How?” Phil’s tone left no doubt he would move heaven and earth if he could.

“Help me figure out what I should say to James? I don’t think my usual style would be best.” His usual style would be a one-sentence message confirming Tony’s findings, and nothing else. Clint was tempted to send one, but he knew that if their positions were reversed, he wouldn’t take a message like that well.

“Probably not,” Phil said with a soft smile. He leaned down and kissed Clint deep enough to make his toes curl. He explored Clint's mouth thoroughly, promising so much more when Clint was feeling up to it, and tugged gently on Clint's bottom lip when he pulled back. “I have an idea for how you could soften the blow a little. You’re not going to like it, though.”

Clint frowned, wondering what Phil could possibly think he’d dislike so much it was worth mentioning after the past three days. There was nothing he could think of until he realized Phil was looking straight at the small cup tucked into the corner of a bookcase. “No.”

“Not all of them,” Phil said quickly. He knew what the beads inside it meant to Clint, how he’d painstakingly tracked down each one when it had fallen off his mother’s scarf, how he mourned the loss of every bead he couldn’t find. He’d watched Clint carefully drop the bead that had come off at the hospital in there just this morning. “Give him one. Maybe two.”

That was one or two too many. “No. I can’t. It’ll just remind him of the scarf.”

“He’s not going to forget the scarf, Clint. But maybe if you give him a bead, he won’t be so worried about getting it.”

Clint didn’t believe that. The beads were nice, but they were nothing compared to the scarf itself, and Clint couldn’t help but feel that giving James one was just going to have the opposite effect. “Or it could make him want it more.”

“You never know until you try.” Phil rubbed his hand up and down Clint's arm soothingly. “It’ll give you something to talk about, and no one will be able to claim you didn’t make an effort if something goes wrong, not even you.”

Clint doubted that. He was a master at blaming himself for things beyond his control. “I’ll manage somehow, but all right. I’ll see what happens.” He looked from the cup of beads to the scarf and back again as he tried to resign himself to letting one of the beads go.

He was going to hate this.


End file.
